Page 85 of The Last Kingdom

Maybe the line served another purpose.

As gatekeeper.

“Tell her,Edelwei Über Schwarzwald.”

The guy tossed him a puzzled look.

“She’ll understand what it means.” The guy did not look like he was going to take the bait. So he added, “Trust me, you want to pass on this message.”

Or at least he hoped that was the case.

Twenty minutes passed before an older woman in a dark wool suit approached him as he sat in the busy reception area. The young man from the desk had told him to wait while he made inquiries. Since he had zero places to go, he’d obliged the request.

While waiting he read up on Dianne McCarter with info from his phone. She was eighty-three years old, the youngest daughter of Ernst Lehmann’s second son. She’d been a lawyer for nearly sixty years, inheriting the senior management reins when her brother and two cousins died in a 1986 plane crash. She had two daughters and a son, along with grandchildren and great-grandchildren, some of whom were lawyers too. Her accomplishments were notable, even serving in the Bundestag for a time representing Bavaria. She no longer actively practiced, though she did maintain a Munich office and the title of senior executive partner. Probably more of a rainmaker, there to keep the big-name clients paying big fees. It seemed she spent most of her time now lecturing at various universities on law and politics.

“Herr Malone,” the woman said to him.

He stood.

“I am Frau McCarter’s personal assistant,” she said in German. “If you would come with me.”

Apparently, his hunch had proven correct. If Ludwig III had written the lines to direct someone to Ernst Lehmann in Eisenbach, it made sense that there would exist a method for Lehmann to know if that person was authentic. What better way than to leave some specific, but not obvious, words that had to be uttered. Simple, yes. But sometimes the simple things worked best. Of course, when all this was conceived nothing close to what was at stake now existed. What had once been a way to just find the body of a dead king had turned into an international race for much more.

He followed the woman onto the elevator where she pressed the down button. After a few stops along the way they walked off into an underground parking garage. A black Mercedes coup waited with the engine running and the rear door open.

The woman beckoned. “Bitte.”

“Are we going somewhere?” he asked.

“I’m not, but you are.”

“And where would that be?”

“To speak with Frau McCarter. She is waiting for you.”

Chapter 46

DERRICK DECIDED TO START WITH RANDY MILLER’S APARTMENT,but first he swung past Luke’s hotel and retrieved a package that had been left for him. Inside the manila envelope were two cell phones that had been retrieved from the men who’d attacked Luke last night. He’d have them dumped to see what they might reveal. Hopefully, if those guys were connected to the Scythe, the phones might provide a trail to Rife and his people.

Randy Miller had been German station chief for a few years and had settled down in Munich. He was divorced and lived alone in an apartment on the city’s east side, not far from the A99 outer autobahn. Malone had been right about Paul Bryie. That man leaving so abruptly had not been happenstance. Bryie had to be connected to Rife, part of thosefriendsMiller had stated still existed for the Scythe within the agency. If not, why didn’t Rife gun him down on the way to the office? Surely the two passed each other.

The cab deposited him at the apartment building.

What a mess.

Here he was, standing in the cold, doing what exactly?

If you told someone you worked for the CIA, the first reaction was usually wonder, then disbelief.Really? You serious? How cool is that?The revelation always conjured up images of every Hollywood stereotypical spy. But reality was so different. No tuxedos, fancy gambling tables, or jet-setting around the globe. The CIA’s job was to simply collect and analyze intelligence data. That mainly came from studying books, journals, industry bulletins, newspapers, websites, tweets, Facebook posts, television, and radio. Anything and everything that offered information. From all that reading reports were generated by the thousands of pages. Most were hardly read and simply filed away as reference material. Ninety percent of the agency worked in cubicles, like the ones back at Meridian Technology, sitting before computer screens. Nothing about any of that was glamorous or exciting. Just analysts who hated their supervisors, supervisors who wanted to be assistant directors, and ADs who thought they’d make a great director. So why did he want an office at Langley? A reward? Recognition from his peers for a job well done? Crap no. He wanted it simply because he deserved it.

A final success.

To go along with all of the failures.

His marriage seemed the worst of all. It took a lot for your wife to walk out with only her clothes after twenty years of marriage. No goodbye, take care, or go to hell. Just gone. Without a word. It was said that the eyes of a lover resolve like an eagle’s, spotting the smallest of things. That had been Jody. Nothing slipped by her. Everything came under her glare.

But he’d made it easy for her.

He’d been uptight, constantly preoccupied, and perpetually moody, rarely offering her his undivided attention. Foolishly, he’d thought she’d never leave. That they were in it forever. But he’d been wrong.

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